


Making War

by HomunculusTrashParty



Series: Paying Tribute to the King [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Consensual Violence, Cunnilingus, F/M, Het, Infidelity, PIV, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, sparring leads to sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:04:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3735016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomunculusTrashParty/pseuds/HomunculusTrashParty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd never been so ready for a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making War

“Good afternoon, General Armstrong,” King Bradley greeted from his desk, with what sounded like warmth to an outside observer... but both of them knew better.

“Good afternoon, Your Excellency,” Olivier replied briskly, staring out the window behind him. Her arms were at her sides in attention, a sword sheathed at her hip. Her weapon of choice. Bradley had to admit that he liked it.

“At ease, General. So I heard what happened to Raven. Care to give me an explanation?” He looked up, his eye narrowing at her. Interestingly, she didn’t even flinch. Other officers would have shown signs of guilt instantly. 

“Yes, sir. He was killed in action fighting the homunculus,” Olivier recounted. “Is that all? I did file a report within twenty-four hours of—”

“I read the report,” Bradley cut her off coldly. “I believe there’s information missing. I have reason to believe it was you who killed him.”

If she was afraid, Bradley couldn’t tell. Her features were completely impassive, and she had no nervous energy or motion whatsoever. Perhaps he’d have to try harder to intimidate her. 

“I found him to be dangerously loose-lipped,” Olivier said slowly. 

Bradley raised an eyebrow. Iron Wall of Briggs or not, she really didn’t have the right to kill his officers for indiscretions. But he was curious. She knew his power was absolute—she wasn’t as stupid as Mustang—so why risk her life and career over Raven? 

“Oh?”

Lips tight and back straight, she challenged him. “He was willing to give away anything. Plans for Central, Your Excellency’s identity...”

Oh, now that was interesting. Perhaps she’d been on to something after all. But he couldn’t let her know that. “And now that you know what I am, I’m sure you aren’t entertaining ideas of treason, are you, General Armstrong?” 

“Absolutely not, sir,” she replied, just loudly enough to be emphatic, but not so much as to sound defensive. “Homunculus or not, you are our Fuhrer and my superior officer to obey without question. That’s what it means to be a soldier. My men are not insubordinate to me on account of my gender, despite the rarity of women in my position.” 

Good, he thought. A very nice answer. But she’d still killed one of his men, and she’d have to pay somehow. “Naturally. But you realize my hands are tied here. You’ve killed a superior officer; I have every right to execute you on the spot. Give me one good reason why I should let you live,” he demanded, anger at the edges of his voice.

“Because, Your Excellency, I am the toughest, most brutally efficient leader and warrior in all of Amestris, except yourself, of course,” she added smoothly. “You lose an advantage by getting rid of me. Raven didn’t tell me everything, but he told me enough—and I’m willing to bet that if the Drachmans hear about a so-called ‘secret of immortality’? They’ll be all over us. I’m our first line of defense.”

“You were our first line of defense. Now you’re my prisoner,” Bradley said flatly. Now he could see a note of surprise on her face, in the form of the most miniscule twitch of an eyebrow. 

“Then at least let me take Raven’s place on your council, sir—let me make my skills useful.”

Bradley burst out laughing. “First you kill one of my officers and now you want his job? Oh, I like you,” he sneered. “You’ve got bigger balls than anyone I’ve ever met. No wonder your men respect you.”

Was she beaming? “Thank you for the compliment, sir,” she replied evenly, though Bradley could hear that little intake of breath. 

Suddenly he had an idea. It had been a good, long time since he’d dueled anyone who had any passion for the pursuit, not to mention anyone who was willing to go for kill shots. “Let me make you a deal. I see you’re a swordsman like myself. Fight me and survive for fifteen minutes, and you’ll win your life. You’ll still be my prisoner, but I’ll dismiss all charges that could get you put to death.” He smiled widely. There was no way she’d live that long. No one ever had. But at least he’d get to see the fire and fear in her eyes as he killed her. He almost shivered. He’d never been so ready for a fight.

Fourteen minutes later, they were both sweating profusely, panting, Olivier bleeding from a shoulder, Bradley from a cut on his arm. They’d shed their coats, Bradley fighting in his dress shirt and Olivier in a grey tank, her hair pulled up into a tight bun on the back of her head. Were he human he might have checked her out, but he was Wrath and she was his opponent.

“Ready to give up?” he goaded, but she was as tough as ever despite the exhaustion he knew had to be settling in. 

“Not happening, sir,” she called back, brandishing her sword. “I have sixty seconds before you’ll be dropping those kill charges, Your Excellency.”

“Well,” he replied, voice gravelly and raspy from exertion, “I’d better finish you off in those sixty seconds, haven’t I?” 

She snorted and lunged at him. He parried her strike and went to stab her but she was too fast, spinning out of the way and hacking at his arm, drawing blood. Enraged, he landed a kick to her abdomen and knocked her sprawling, and for the first time thought she’d had enough, but she was back up almost instantly, ducking under his swing at her neck, darting behind him and kicking the backs of his knees to break his balance. It was harder than she’d anticipated—he could tell she was used to opponents without nearly as much body mass—but it still temporarily made him stumble, knees giving way. He turned and stabbed backwards, missing her by mere inches as she scrambled out of the way.

They faced each other once more, Olivier glaring at him with an intensity he’d never seen before. He stabbed forward again, this time pouring all of his strength into his sword, and Olivier dodged by a millimeter. She let out a battle cry and went to slice his shoulder, and he threw his sword up to block the strike, surprised at how much effort he had to expend to do so. With another hard push he managed to force the weapon from her hand, and she used the time it took him to regain his stance to punch him in the face, hoping to buy herself some time to get her sword back. He could taste blood dripping from his nose, but he didn’t stop to wipe it away, and when she leapt over his desk to collect her weapon he threw his sword at her, missing by inches and penetrating the wall behind her. He grabbed it and blocked her next strike; she was on her knees, he could slice off her head so easily as soon as he broke her grip on her sword—

A bell rang suddenly, the alarm Bradley had set for them. They both stood, Bradley sheathing his sword first to prove he wasn’t about to fight dirty. When Olivier was satisfied that he wasn’t going to kill her on the spot (not yet, anyway) she stood, sheathing hers as well.

“You’re the only one who’s ever survived my little test,” Bradley acknowledged, dabbing at his face with his handkerchief, and despite wanting to remain cold, his tone reflected how impressed he was.

“I’m damn good at what I do, Your Excellency,” Olivier replied boldly, though it was clear that the compliment was not lost on her. She was breathing heavily, clearly exhausted, sweat pouring from her forehead and the back of her neck. Bradley’s shirt was positively dry in comparison.

“So it would seem.” He could feel her eyes on him, and became aware that she, too, was impressed with him. “Are you surprised that a man of my age can be so fast and strong, General?”

“Nothing surprises me anymore, sir,” Olivier said with a slight chuckle, “but you are by far the toughest opponent I’ve ever faced. I hate to admit it, but even the best of my men succumb to me in combat.” She paused to catch her breath. “I guess I’ve been looking for a more challenging enemy.”

Bradley laughed derisively. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. You already know I’m a homunculus, and you won’t live to tell anyone else, so there’s no harm in disclosing this. My true name is Wrath the Furious. My creator is the only being that can fight like I can, and you won’t be meeting him.”

Olivier appeared to be weighing the costs of asking a question but chose to be satisfied with Bradley’s admissions. “The name suits you, sir.” There was admiration in her voice, he thought. He wanted to laugh; how interesting humans were. The ability to admire one’s enemy just seconds after victory. Bradley never admired the vanquished; he didn’t even pity them. Did one pity the blades of grass under his feet? 

“You’ve earned your life, I think that’s enough for one day. Unless...” Bradley thought back on what felt like unnecessarily harsh breathing for someone in as good a shape as Olivier. “You enjoy battle, don’t you, General?”

“I suppose so, yes. I don’t enjoy losing good men, but a casualty-free fight can be invigorating,” she said carefully.

“Invigorating, huh. Well...” He decided he’d try something. Without drawing his sword he advanced on Olivier, and when she didn’t step back even when he came up close to her—she was clearly unwilling to lose ground of any kind—he began speaking in a low voice. Their faces were inches from each other. “I think it’s more than invigorating.”

“Are you attempting to solicit me for sex, Your Excellency?” Olivier asked flatly. 

“Well, you aren’t saying no, are you?” 

The faintest of blushes crept up her neck. “It’s your turn to give _me_ a good reason,” she spat. “Sir.”

“I think we’re alike, you and I. I think you enjoy the thrill of the hunt as much as I do. And I think you’d enjoy what I have to offer,” he rasped, right near her ear. “Come and fight me, and let things happen as they may. No dirty tricks, no timer, no weapons.”

Olivier paused for a moment to consider, then decked him in the jaw. Bradley grabbed her and threw her into the wall, watching with pleasure as she leveraged against it to propel herself back onto her feet. She wasn’t as powerful as he was, but she was fast and resourceful. He found himself dodging and catching various objects she threw at him: an ink blotter, a thick glass paperweight, an ornamental letter opener she hurled like a knife.

While he was occupied with that she leapt onto his desk and tackled him, pinning him to the floor, strong thighs restricting the movement of his legs. 

“Is this what Your Excellency had in mind?” she asked breathlessly, as he looked up into her eyes. Her hair was falling out of the tight bun, framing her face. He thought about how she’d snarl at him if he pulled it. Her pupils were blown, cheeks flushed from exertion. Far from submission, her smile said conquest, victory.

He couldn’t let her win so easily, even though their current position pleased him. 

Bradley shifted, and with a grunt he rolled them sideways, pushing off the ground with one foot and reversing them so that he was on top of her, hands on her wrists and a knee between her thighs. She tried kicking him and he shoved his knee up into her groin, the hiss she made going straight to his cock. “Feels good, doesn’t it? How long has it been for you? How long since you’ve taken a partner into your bed, Olivier Armstrong?” 

She glared daggers at him. “My name is not yours to throw around, _King_ Bradley.”

He laughed at her. “Fortunately, my name is as much a title as Fuhrer. You’ll always be paying me respect, even when you insult me.”

The comment earned him a hard kick in the ass, Olivier clearly aiming at his balls from behind and missing. “Is it so easy to get to you? All I have to do is use your name. What if I use it while you ride my cock?”

He liked her; the more aroused she became, the more violent her words and the more exquisite her struggling. “If we were in Briggs, I’d have my men gang rape you,” she growled. “After I stretch you out myself. I have quite the collection, I’m sure I have something to make even Wrath the Furious weep.”

“Nothing makes me weep, General. Though you’re welcome to try.” He smiled.

She struggled against him again, hurling kicks at his backside until he sat back on his heels on top of her. “Go ahead. Hit me.”

She went to throw a punch and he caught her arm. “Do better,” he growled. 

She tried to sit up to get closer and ended up in his arms. He knew he was strong, and he knew she couldn’t escape even if she wanted to. Which she did not; he could feel her heavy breathing, could hear the low noise in the back of her throat when she tested his grip to see if she could get out of it.

“If you’re so sure of your dominance, why prove it to me?” she demanded, out of breath.

“I could ask you the same question,” he breathed into her ear. He felt her shiver.

All this contact and violence was making him hard, and he wondered if she felt similarly. Was she wet for him yet? He imagined the smooth glide his cock would make into her pussy, after all this closeness, and had to resist another growl. 

“Like I said, though: no dirty tricks. You won your life and if you truly don’t want this, then get out of my office. I’m not interested in a lifeless victim. What I want is a good fight with someone as brutal as I am.”

Olivier smirked. “Well, that won’t be a problem. If I wanted out, I’d be out. Don’t underestimate me. But, forgive the intrusion, don’t you have a wife, sir?”

“Yes, I have a wife. While she’s got spirit, she won’t hurt me. Anything that leaves a mark is too much for her,” he said bitterly. 

“Well, then.” Olivier shot forward and bit Bradley’s neck, hard. Anyone else could have bled out. She sucked the blood off his skin with a satisfied hum.

Bradley grunted deep in the back of his throat, and finally gave in to his urge to pull her hair. She growled at him and bit his shoulder, just painfully enough to get him to loosen his grip on her arms. She broke free and shoved him hard, toppling them both over and straddling him possessively. 

“So even an old man like you still enjoys sex,” she remarked, hips rolling against his clothed erection. 

“I’m no ordinary man, Olivier. You know that.”

She slapped him hard enough to make him almost— _almost_ —whimper. “It’s General.”

“It’s better when you’re angry, don’t you agree?” He smiled, lying lazily on his back beneath her. One hand gripped her thigh, the other went up behind her head and pulled the tie from her hair, letting it fall past her shoulders. His hand dropped to the hem of her grey tank, soaked with sweat and clinging to her skin. He tugged it up. “Get this off.”

“Show me yours first,” she demanded, crossing her arms and obscuring her chest from view.

He chuckled and unbuttoned his dress shirt, opening it to reveal a thickly muscled, hairy chest and abdomen. The one day he’d decided against an undershirt, and it clearly had paid off. “Like what you see?”

“I enjoy physical specimens of power, yes,” Olivier said evasively. “I am an Armstrong, after all.” Without further discussion she pulled her shirt over her head, reaching behind her back to unhook her bra, a shade of blue that reminded Bradley of ice. How fitting.

He took in the sight of her breasts, noting her shameless and proud gaze, the little smirk at the corners of her lips. They were supple and firm, and as his large hands covered them, he could feel the tightness of her muscles behind them. Thumbs brushed against her nipples with surprising gentleness. Then he pinched them hard, unsure if Olivier’s cry was pain or pleasure; it was probably both. Her head fell back as she rolled her hips again, letting him grope her, thoroughly enjoying his touch. Then she grabbed his wrists and forced them to his sides, leaning down against him and smelling his neck, sweat and musk and all. He felt her breasts against him, soft but for erect nipples, and she let go of his wrists to seek more contact. She leaned back to run her hands down his chest, feeling every muscle, and he could tell she appreciated the sheer power under his skin. He knew he appreciated hers, he thought, hands wrapping around her to feel her tightly defined abs and thighs, groping her ass, tracing up her back and back to her biceps. She was the most powerfully built woman he had ever encountered, and his hips rose to meet hers, seeking friction. 

“I never thought Wrath the Furious would be so tactile.” There was amusement and lust in her voice as her hips ground down against him.

“Don’t worry, it’ll get rough again soon enough,” he said with a smile, hands falling gently on her thighs. “If you relinquish your hold on me, I can open my pants. And if you look in my desk, in the bottom left drawer, you’ll find something we can make use of.” 

Olivier got up, stealing a glance at his bulge as she did so, and he could hear her rummaging around. Then she laughed. “You keep prophylactics in your desk. I assumed Mustang did, but not you.”

“For all his skirt chasing, Mustang wouldn’t know a woman if she bit him in the face.” The words were almost spat. “Get over here and get naked, I’ve got something else you’ll enjoy.”

With the condom held by the edge of its wrapper in her mouth she swiftly undid her trousers and dropped them to the floor, kicking them off. She spent a split second observing the hunger in Bradley’s eye before adding her panties to the pile of her clothes on the floor, spitting the condom into her hand. “If you refer to any ‘carpet’ or ‘drapes’ I’m leaving.”

“The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind,” he said pleasantly. He had sat up slightly, his own uniform trousers nearby, and was stroking himself idly. Olivier noticed and stared openly. “Go ahead. I don’t mind being watched. Sometimes I do it alone in my office, too,” he said softly, and oh, was she trying not to moan? 

“Your Excellency is certainly well endowed.” She didn’t stop staring as she knelt next to him, grabbing his wrist and replacing his hand with her own. 

Her grip was firm and rough, just perfect. He made a noise in the back of his throat, and couldn’t resist running his fingers down the hollow of her hip. She spread her legs instantly, kneeling in a wide stance and letting him explore her. 

“Good, you’re nice and wet already for me.” She let out a surprised moan when one of his fingers rubbed her clit, her grip on him tightening. “I do enjoy the taste of a woman,” he added, noting the desire in her half lidded eyes. “If you ever want to come back...” He stopped touching her to lick his fingers. “Perhaps, if you do me a favor, I’ll go down on you. I’m very good at it. There’s a reason my wife is happy with me.” 

Olivier gritted her teeth against what might have been a whimper of protest when he removed his fingers. “I’ll keep it in mind, sir.” 

“I’ll give you a taste,” he offered, voice halfway between lustful and sinister as he lay back down. Olivier scrambled over to him and straddled his face, and this time she did moan openly, his lips and tongue exquisite on her. He knew she could feel his mustache against her mound, could feel him hum into her clit from the way her hips twitched and pushed against him.

He tapped her thigh, and she really, _really_ didn’t want to get off of him, but she obeyed, and he surprised her by directing her to lie down, using his jacket as a pillow. She spread her legs wide instantly, his fingers pulling her open as he tongued one side of her clit, slipping a finger inside her and rubbing up against her g-spot. The shaky cry he got in response made his cock twitch as he sucked at her, tongue firmly stroking her clit, tasting her sweat and arousal and feeling her tightness. 

Within minutes she was on the edge, legs trembling, a steady series of breathy moans on her lips. She likely expected him to pull back and deny her, but he didn’t, and the orgasm shook her, made her throw back her head and cry out mightily. He could taste it; she was slick and wet, ready and open for him, contracting around his finger and making him so very hard. 

When she could breathe again, there was another small moan when she saw Bradley’s rock hard cock waiting for her, the firm strokes he was giving himself as he kneeled in front of her. “I’m ready when you are,” he said seductively, licking her arousal off his lips, wiping it off his mustache with a finger and sucking it clean. 

She didn’t need a moment’s thought before grabbing the condom, tearing open the package and rolling it on. Then she shoved him, hard, forcing him on his back, holding his latex-sheathed cock at the base as she sank down on it. It was Bradley’s turn to moan at the force of the impact, of the tight heat of her body surrounding him, at the sudden steady pace at which she rocked her hips. 

“Hit me,” he groaned, and she backhanded him across the face, smirking at the noise he made. It was so good to be buried deep inside a woman who was willing to fight as hard as he was. He watched her tits bounce as she rode him, watched the muscles tense under her skin as she moved. She was as tight inside as she was everywhere else, and a lesser man would have lost it immediately. 

“If I had my sword, it’d be at your throat,” Olivier boasted breathlessly, all of that bravado back almost immediately. He noticed she’d dropped the honorifics and he didn’t mind one bit. “Would that have made you hard? Losing the fight if it meant you’d met your match?”

“I never lose,” he gasped as she coupled the question with a particularly nice downward thrust of her hips. “But it seems like I have met my match, doesn’t it?”

She smirked again and tossed her head back with a sigh. “As much as I like this position, I prefer my sex more aggressive. Let’s switch.” 

Olivier reluctantly got off of him and got on her hands and knees on her clothes for support. “Get behind me and fuck me like you mean it, old man.”

She was daring, all right. Luckily it was exactly what he wanted. Honorifics in bed were too much like being at the office. Bradley did as she asked, grabbing her hips possessively and jerking her back against him as he thrust in to the hilt. “How does that feel?” he growled into her ear. “Hard enough for you?”

“Never,” she spat. Oh, he liked her. He began pounding her violently, the sounds of his impact against her thighs filling the room. She grunted, her back arching and her hair spilling down her shoulders and back. He gathered as much as he could and tugged on it like a leash, yanking her head back and making her growl in pleasure and pain. “How about now? Are you going to come on my cock, Olivier?”

She bit back a moan, and her cries escalated in volume and pitch. He kept drilling her, and oh, there it was, her orgasm contracting around him, pulsing like every shot of cum when he touched himself. She was loud, he was sure the guards outside could hear her, but they also knew to intervene would mean their death. 

“Don’t fucking stop,” she bellowed, “I’m not done yet.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, soldier. I haven’t made you scream yet.” He was panting, starting to feel the tension building in earnest, Olivier’s body and words and moans all around him, as she acted like as much of an animal as he was. Killing her would have been an enormous loss.

She started backing up into him, his fingers definitely leaving bruises on her skin to go with all the ones she’d sustained from their fight. He knew she wanted it that way; perhaps she wanted to look at herself in the mirror and reminisce? Perhaps with one of the toys she referenced? The thought of her masturbating made him groan. “Are you going to think about this later? I want you to get wet every time you see me... yeah, that’s it...”

“You’re going to imagine killing me, aren’t you?” There was no judgment in her voice whatsoever. “You do it too, don’t you? Unless... There’s someone you want dead, someone too important for you to touch?”

Bradley growled like an animal as her words nearly took him to the edge. Mustang, of course, but he couldn’t touch him, Father needed him for sacrifice. He longed to strip the flesh from his bones, to only extinguish the life within when he was damn sure Roy had suffered enough humiliation and pain for daring to aspire to his position. 

“Think about killing him,” she goaded, her voice raising again as she rode the waves of pleasure Bradley’s thick cock sent through her. “Fuck, I’m...!”

“Have you had enough yet?” he asked, nearly out of breath, voice dark and brutal with desire and anger. He was so close, all he’d have to do was imagine the forbidden.

“Finish it,” she demanded, as she nearly screamed her orgasm into the front of Bradley’s desk. 

She clenched hard around him and he gave in, driving hard and losing it harder, grunting with every shot, Olivier moaning at the way his cock pulsed and twitched inside her as he came. There was so much of it, he could feel it; it was a shame he wouldn’t see it on her cheeks or breasts, wouldn’t see her tongue peek out to lick it off her lips. 

When he’d finally stopped and had caught his breath somewhat he pulled out gently, letting go of her hips and hair. She sat back on her heels and stretched, as he stood and went to his desk again. 

When she’d turned around and gotten up, he was cleaning himself with an old handkerchief, tossing the condom in the trash. He looked up and saw her triumphant smile, and returned his own. “I take it you enjoyed yourself, General Armstrong?”

“Yes, sir, I did,” was her satisfied reply. There was a breathiness to her voice that hadn’t been there before. She drew her sword and used it as a mirror, adjusting her hair and running her fingers through it in an attempt to smooth it into place. Most people lost some of their air of authority while in a state of partial undress, but he and the General were different. She dressed quickly, and he watched out of the corner of his eye while he buttoned his shirt back up, tucking it neatly into his pants. 

“Do you still need me to submit an amendment to my report, sir?”

“That won’t be necessary,” he replied cordially, mask fully in place. “And as I said, I’ve dropped all charges that could get you court martialed or killed. You are, however, still my prisoner, and as such I’ve assigned an escort to get you around Central for any personal business.” His eye narrowed. “Don’t think you’ve won any more than that.”

Olivier laughed. “I’m no fool, Your Excellency.”

“I know.” It’s part of why I keep you, he thought. “One last thing. Discretion is the better part of valor. Is that the old adage?” She gave a slight nod. “Dismissed, General.”

Olivier saluted and left, sword hanging on her hip. Bradley noted with pleasure that she squirmed slightly with each step. 

“And if you ever want to come back,” he murmured to himself as he skimmed her report, “I won’t kick you out.”


End file.
